Discworld Short Stories
by Project 0506
Summary: Some crossovers with other series.  Mostly starring everyone's favorite Wizzard
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I make no claim to Discworld, or any characters that appear in the Discworld series. They are the property of Terry Prachett. I make no money off this story.

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It took a special brand of cowardice to be able to forsake all semblance of curiosity. And Rincewind was a rare breed of coward, he would gladly admit. He was the kind of coward who assumed that anything that made a sudden, unexpected noise had horrific plots in store for him, and it was best to quickly remove himself. So it wasn't unusual to wake up running.

Sleeping in trees had that advantage: if you heard a noise it was very simple to suddenly come upon the ground and move forward at a rapid pace. These days he could be off a good mile before his mind registered the sound of a most likely harmless bird. This morning as he jogged back to his sleeping spot Rincewind decided to change. As of this moment, Rincewind would become a coward who grabbed his hat BEFORE he ran, so as not to need to backtrack.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I make no claim to Discworld, Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy, or any characters that appear in the either series. They are the property of Terry Prachett and Douglas Adams respectively. I make no money off this story.

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"So... you _purposefully_ throw yourself at the ground?"

Arthur nodded glumly. "Bloody stupid, isn't it?"

The wizzard snatched madly at his hat as it attempted to float away. "I could think of many better things to do with one's time."

"But the _point_ was that you're supposed to miss. You don't actually hit the ground. More like... float above it. Ideally."

"Ah. And unideally?"

"You hit it. Typically rather hard."

"See, that's the part that worries me." Rincewind looked nervously around, then promptly closed his eyes. The things moving rapidly past him also had him worried. "Can I take a guess about which one you did?"

"Oh I missed. A bloody good miss if I do say so myself. However I seemed to have ...over-missed. Seems like it caused a bit of a temporal rift. Or something like that."

"Temporal rift?"

"The thing we're falling through."

"Ah. I knew I didn't like it." It is actually rather simple to stay at least superficially calm while one plunges towards one's doom. As long as the Bottom remains unseen, that is.

"You wouldn't by any chance happen to have any tea on you?"

At the scraggly man's disbelieving stare, Arthur merely shrugged. "Haven't had any good tea in a few centuries." The man _had_ admitted to co-authoring 'Going mad for fun and profit'.

"What happens when we..." Rincewind found it difficult to say 'hit Bottom'. His experience with that phrase had been less than pleasant recently.

"The Guide doesn't say much about temporal rifts. Basically 'avoid'."

"And if it's unavoidable? Like if you're already IN one?"

Arthur flipped through a few files in his hand-held version of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. "Oh. Here we go. When you fall through a temporal rift, as you near the bottom..."

"Yes?"

"Aim to miss." With a sigh Arthur returned the device to a pocket in his shabby bathrobe. "Not much help there."

"I'm going to _DIE_!"

"Pretty unlikely. I've been trying to for a while now. Bob's sadistic like that."

The subject of who exactly Bob was was dropped before it even started, in favor of the rapidly approaching, rather large, flat and distinctly painful looking 'Bottom'.

"I'm going to die! I'm going to die!"

"Aim to miss!"

What followed would have eventually been a wordless scream, had Rincewind's throat not suddenly forgotten how to channel air.

"Huh," Arthur muttered, staring down at their inevitable destination. "Hey you!"

"_What?_"

"Is that your luggage?"

Sure enough, waiting patiently at the Bottom sat a box on hundreds of legs. Rincewind noticed several things at once. One: Bottom was no longer lunging at him. Two: he seemed to be floating. Three: the acknowledgement of One and Two re-triggered movement. (Four: there was a rather unpleasant draft about his undergarments.)

Rincewind and Arthur landed with a pair of pained-but-not-quite-as-pained-as-it-could-have-been oofs.

"Well that was better than usual. Oh," Arthur chirped brightly, shoving himself up. "Hullo again."

HELLO. HAS BEEN QUITE A WHILE.

Rincewind had a habit of never turning to look at someone who suddenly started speaking behind him. However, at the moment his usual plan of action was thwarted by a disgruntled Luggage settling itself on his legs. Slowly he turned and looked in the face of DEATH.

Or, more specifically, in the skull of DEATH.

"Lot's of work no doubt," continued Arthur, as if speaking to an old friend.

YES. AND YOU DON'T TYPICALLY MAKE IT ANY EASIER.

"So," Rincewind shoved the Luggage, which glared at him. "You're not here for me then?"

WELL I _WAS_. DEATH replied, almost petulantly. BUT IT SEEMS THAT I'M NOT ANY MORE. GOOD DAY.

"Well I'll be off too," said Arthur once the Reaper had vanished. "Just a friendly suggestion, you should try going insane. It does wonders for your blood pressure."

"_WAIT_! How do I get back?"

"Take another rift in the opposite direction."

Arthur stepped into a hole in the 'wall' of the swirling mass of color that made up Bottom and disappeared.

"I think... I'll stay right-"

A rift opened immediately beneath the Wizzard's feet.

Whoever Bob was, Rincewind thought as he screamed through another fall, he was really a bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Do not own Discworld, or Irregular Webcomic. They are the properties of Terry Prachett and David Morgan-Mar respectively. No money is being made from this.

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"So...there are more of you?"

DEATH nodded solemnly over his cup of tea.

SEVERAL.

"And this dimension is just understaffed, and that's why I only ever see you?"

The skeleton sniffed, offended. THAT'S A LOVELY WAY OF PUTTING IT.

Rincewind apologized quickly. Life was hard enough when DEATH didn't hate you.

YOU DON'T _NEED_ A 'DEATH BY LICKING A POISONOUS FROG' OR A 'WRESTLED TO DEATH BY STEVE'. DEATH chirped mockingly. YOUR DIMENSION IS FAR TOO BACKWARD TO NEED A PARADOX DEPARTMENT. ALL I HAVE TO WORK WITH IS 'DEATH OF RATS', AND HE'S BEEN HORRIBLY BUSY IN ANKH MORPORK LATELY.

"That's... awful. Terrible really. But what am I supposed to do?"

Here DEATH grinned. NOTHING. NOTHING AT ALL. I'LL SIMPLY BE FOLLOWING YOU AROUND FOR A WEEK OR TWO.

"As much as that sounds simply wonderful-"

YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.

The Wizzard sighed. "But _why_?" he whined.

YOUR LIFE ALONE IS PROOF I NEED A FULL DEPARTMENT. I'LL BE TAKING A FEW ICONOGRAPHS, KEEPING A FEW RECORDS, ALL EVIDENCE GATHERING. NOTHING TO WORRY YOU IN THE SLIGHTEST.

Somehow, the thought of DEATH using him to get _more_ DEATHS on the Disc was enough to worry him more than slightly. But... they couldn't possibly have more issues than the current DEATH could they?

-two-weeks-later

YES? DEATH asked, slightly irritated at being woken up that early.

"Good morning, I'm here from the Mundania Paradox Department's temp agency. You're looking for an assistant Death?"

YOU DON'T SPEAK IN CAPS.

"I CAN." The temp bellowed. It wasn't very good, but it was a start.

IT WILL HAVE TO DO.

The temp saluted smartly, barely managing to duck in time to prevent beheading by his own scythe. "I am Da-"

AHEM.

"Right. Sorry, I'm new at this." The temp cleared this throat and bellowed: "DAVID MORGAN-MAR REPORTING FOR THE POSITION OF 'GOING BACK IN TIME AND KILLING YOURSELF'."

DEATH sighed. FINE. GET TO IT.


End file.
